


The Dangers of Wit

by KitLlwynog



Category: Regency Love (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Regency, continues after canon, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14569554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLlwynog/pseuds/KitLlwynog
Summary: Catherine Blakesleigh is just beginning to realize her feelings for Mr. Curtis when he disappears. She risks her reputation to track him down at his family estate in Yorkshire, but will she find her own happy ending, or heartbreak?





	1. Something Unspoken and Holy

Mr. Curtis pressed the book into her hands, fingertips brushing her knuckles but not lingering. It was a thin volume, and the binding was exquisite: black leather in perfect condition, trimmed with gold leaf. “This is beautiful,” Catherine said, meeting his gray eyes. They were more clouded than usual, as if to conceal his emotions. “It must be very rare and dear to you.”

“It is a first edition which took several years to obtain,” he agreed, his voice a little rough. “But I could hardly allow a woman as learned as yourself to continue without some Donne in your library.”

She smiled at the spark of humor in his eyes. “I will be sure to read it right away, so as to swiftly amend my ignorance.”

“I look forward to hearing your opinion,” he replied. There was a moment of silence where it seemed the air was heavy with unspoken words. “I should go, before I overstay my welcome. I'm expected at the Worthingtons for dinner.”

“Yes. It wouldn't do to keep them waiting,” Catherine said, clutching the book to her chest.

“Good afternoon, Miss Blakesleigh,” he said, putting on his hat. 

“You as well, Mr. Curtis.” He went out into the corridor, and Bessie opened the front door to let him out. Catherine sighed as the door shut behind his retreating figure. 

“That's a very fine gift, Miss Catherine,” Bessie said, smiling almost dreamily. “Mr. Curtis thinks highly of you.”

“I suppose he must,” Catherine said. “He can be quite charming on occasion.” 

It wasn't until after dinner, when she was alone in her room, that she allowed herself to think more on it. She sat in a chair before the flickering hearth and opened the book carefully. It smelled like dust and silence, and she could almost see Mr. Curtis standing in the midst of soaring bookshelves. If you could call anywhere his natural abode, it would be that, and she smiled to think of it.

The _Holy Sonnets_ were, she discovered after a few minutes perusal, mostly religious in nature. It wasn't necessarily a courting gift, or it wouldn't be, if it weren't so expensive. Mr. Curtis, she suspected, was not the sort of person to lavish gifts on his associates, and as far as she knew, he didn't have many other friends. After all the pressure her mother had put on her since her father died to quickly find a wealthy husband, it was strange to think that she might be on the verge of success, almost by accident. 

Not that she didn't like Mr. Curtis. He was honest and witty, and his conversations were always interesting. He respected her opinions, which had been a novel experience coming from a man. She'd been resigned to the idea that she'd be lucky to tolerate her future husband. They weren't a wealthy family; she hardly had a dowry to speak of, and her mother had cautioned her to take what she could get. Now, perhaps, she dared to hope for more.

Did she love Mr. Curtis? She certainly enjoyed his company. And he was handsome, though other women might not have thought so. Everyone in Darlington agreed that Mr. Ashcroft was dashing, with his cool blue eyes and commanding manner, and many of the young women swooned over Mr. Graham’s rakish charm. But to Catherine, Mr. Curtis had a spark of something in his eyes that reminded her of the great oaks of the nearby woods. His roots ran deep into the secret heart of things, but he was steady and solid in his convictions, if not quite in his temperament. To be kept under the shelter of his affection seemed like a rare privilege. He had a way of surprising her with unusual opinions, and she wanted to know him better. If that was not love, then it was surely a good start.

****************************

Demetrius stood by the window, looking out on the misty woods of Hertfordshire as the last rays of the sun faded. His mind wandered over the fields and meadows to the Blakesleigh house. Was Catherine reading the book? What did she think of it? Of him? 

“I trust you enjoyed your meal, Mr. Curtis?” Mr. Worthington’s voice jolted him from his reverie, and he sighed.

“Of course. I have always said that your cook is one of the most talented in the country,” he said, turning to face his friend.

“You have, and Daisy always delights to hear it,” Mr. Worthington said, chuckling before assuming a more serious expression. “But I've just had some news. It seems Mr. Everett will be arriving in the coming weeks, stopping to visit friends in the area on his way north.”

A flare of anger boiled up Demetrius’s throat followed by a crashing wave of despair. He swallowed. “I have some personal business I must attend to in any case. I will simply make myself scarce until he leaves.” Though Mr. Worthington had no knowledge of it, a certain anniversary approached, for which Demetrius would prefer to be in Yorkshire anyway. The fact that Mr. Everett would be here socializing only reinforced his continuing hatred for the man. 

“And what about Miss Blakesleigh?” Mr. Worthington asked, and his words were like a hot needle right to Demetrius’s heart. 

“What about her?” he said, just managing to keep his tone light and his expression neutral. 

“You've called on her several times, and she seems to enjoy your company. You don't think she will find your sudden disappearance somewhat distressing?” Mr. Worthington inquired, his eyebrow raised.

“I’m sure there are plenty of eligible young men that would suit her much better,” Demetrius said, though he felt bitterness well up within him at the words.

“That's unfair of you, Mr. Curtis. Both to her and yourself.”

“I've never claimed to be a kind person,” he replied, turning back to the window. This was an isolation he had chosen for himself. A penitence for not protecting Olivia as he should have. If he'd only told her how he felt sooner, he wouldn't be the bitter and broken man that he was. It had been foolish to think he could cast his solitude aside so easily. No matter how lovely and kind and witty he found Catherine Blakesleigh, she deserved more than he could give.

*********************

Several days after she received the book, her mother informed her that they would be dining at the Worthingtons again the following evening. Catherine couldn't help but smile at that, and though she tried to hide her pleasure behind her embroidery, her keen-eyed mother did not fail to notice.

Helena Blakesleigh arched an eyebrow. “You seem fond of their friend, Mr. Curtis.”

“Well,” Catherine said, feeling a slight flush rise to her cheeks, “We have such interesting conversations, and despite his forbidding demeanor, he is both pleasant and witty.”

“Are you quite certain there isn't a Mrs. Curtis? He seems a bit old to still be a bachelor.”

“Perhaps he's a widower,” Catherine said. “I don’t think Mr. Worthington would have been so eager to introduce us if he were married.”

“I suppose you're right,” her mother replied, pursing her lips. “Still, he is not a cheerful sort, is he?”

“He just doesn't like dancing, Mother. That doesn't make him evil,” Catherine said, shaking her head. She loved her mother dearly, but she could be infuriatingly obsessed with appearances. Catherine understood the importance of etiquette and propriety, for the most part, but surely they needn't all be fit to the same mold. 

The next morning, she went to Darlington to visit the lending library. Though the subject matter of the _Holy Sonnets_ left something to be desired, Donne did have a beautiful way of wording things. Perhaps he also wrote on subjects less dour than sin and damnation. After sidestepping Mrs. Norris, she was able to ensconce herself in the paper-scented confines for a half hour. There was, in fact, a bound folio of Donne’s romantic poetry, as well as a compilation of several poems by Lord Byron and his friends Keats and Shelley. She'd have to hide that one from her mother. 

Once armed with reading material, she ventured out onto the street only to wind up right in the path of Mr. Digby. Though Catherine did not hold him in as much disdain as Mary Earlwood, conversations could be somewhat tedious. She smiled encouragingly, having learned that was the best way to keep him from stumbling through his greeting too much.

“Oh, ah, Miss Blakesleigh, hello. How is your…. ah, health?” he asked, wringing his hands.

“I'm quite well, Mr. Digby. How are you?” she asked. He shifted from foot to foot.

“Fine. I'm fine. Lovely day we’re having isn’t it?” Catherine looked around at the gray, low clouds and arched an eyebrow. “Well, I mean… it isn't raining, so…”

“Yes, hopefully it stays that way,” Catherine said. Her mother would have a fit if she came home soaking wet again. 

“So, you… like books?” Digby ventured, nodding to the paper-wrapped parcel in her arms. This was a sort of development for him. Usually he never got past the weather.

“I'm quite fond of reading, yes. Are you a fan of literature as well, Mr. Digby?”

“Er… well, I do read… the Bible, at times. And the prayer book, of course,” he said awkwardly.

“Of course you do,” Catherine said with false brightness. Not that there was anything wrong with piety, per se, but she'd thought she'd finally discovered something interesting about Mr. Digby. Mary would've been astounded. However, since he was a parson, the fact that he read scripture was not terribly remarkable and thus, disappointing. “I'd better be going. My mother and I have an engagement this evening. Good day, Mr. Digby.” He waved at her wordlessly, and she continued through the town and into the forest toward home.

***********************

The moment they arrived at Castoridge Court, Catherine’s eyes started searching for a familiar tall silhouette against the windows. Except for the first time they’d met, when Mr. Worthington had practically dragged him by the elbow, Mr. Curtis could always be found looking out onto the grounds, often with a book in hand. That wasn't the case today, however. She stifled her disappointment. It wouldn't be proper to ask about him, of course, so she ate her dinner, feeling somewhat subdued. After dinner, they all retired to the parlor, and Catherine found herself inclined to stand alone by the window.

“My dear Miss Blakesleigh, you seem troubled,” Mr. Worthington said, coming to stand beside her.

She glanced over at his friendly, paternal face and sighed. “I suppose I am, a bit.”

“I guess you were hoping to see Mr. Curtis today,” he said, smiling. “To think I was speaking to him by this very window just a few days ago.”

Catherine felt her cheeks flush again, infuriatingly. “I read a book on his recommendation, and I had hoped to speak with him about it. He is well, isn't he?”

“I believe so, yes. At least physically. I did invite him to dinner, but he declined. He's been a bit out of sorts ever since he heard that Mr. Everett was in town.”

“Mr. Everett? I’m not familiar with anyone by that name,” she said, her brow furrowing.

“I believe he and Mr. Curtis grew up together in Yorkshire, but they had a falling out of some kind.”

“I wonder what it was about.” She felt that anything that would induce Mr. Curtis to hold such a grudge must be important.

“He's never spoken of it,” Mr. Worthington said. “But I believe whatever happened affected him deeply. I suspect he will come back to us after Mr. Everett leaves, but…” He paused, as if he was hesitant to speak further.

“If there is something I should know, I would have you tell me,” Catherine said, fixing him with a sharp look.

Mr. Worthington sighed. “It is only that Mr. Curtis has never before had any… attachments.”

Catherine's eyebrows flicked upward. “And you believe he will not be inclined to form such attachments in the future.”

“He does seem to be fond of you. I think you two are well-suited. But I do not want you to hold out too much hope.” She pursed her lips and Mr. Worthington patted her shoulder. It was something to consider.

******************

She was able to think of little else for the next three days, until her closest friend, Mary Earlwood, came to tea. When Bessie had brought them the teapot and a plate of scones and jam and closed the door, Mary leaned forward eagerly. “You'll never guess what I heard in town.”

“By the look in your eyes, I assume it involves a handsome man,” Catherine replied, grinning.

“Not this time,” Mary said. “Do you remember Lampton Hall? I believe it's been empty ever since the widow Higgs moved to be with her daughter in Bath.”

“Yes, I believe I went to tea there with mother, once or twice. It had a beautiful garden, filled with climbing roses. Didn't Mrs. Higgs keep beehives?”

“She did. I loved going to visit her because she always used to give me fresh honeycomb.” Mary said, smiling as if she’d just been given another treat. “But never mind that. I heard the property has been purchased by an anonymous benefactor so that it can be turned into a school. A school for poor children of both sexes.”

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “I can see why they wanted to remain anonymous. I imagine certain people are quite scandalized,” she said, thinking of Mrs. Norris. “Not that I’m one of them. I think the world could use more learned people. Mr. Curtis and I were just talking about this subject last week.”

“Mr. Curtis, is it?” Mary said with a gleam in her eye. “Don't think I haven't noticed your sudden burst of good spirits. Who is he? I don't think we've met.”

“He's acquainted with the Worthingtons, you know, old friends of my father. He family estate is in Yorkshire, I believe, but he’s been maintaining his residence in Bradley House of late,” Catherine said, her hands folded primly in her lap, but of course Mary wasn't fooled.

“And, has he called on you at all? Do you want him to? Don't keep me in the dark.”

“He did call on me last week,” Catherine answered, no longer sure how to feel about the event, “To give me a book. I do like him, very much, but I'm not sure if I should hope for anything.”

“Why ever not? If he’s called on you, to give you a gift, no less, surely that means he's interested,” Mary said, frowning.

“I thought so as well, but Mother and I were at Castoridge Court a few days past, and Mr. Worthington warned me to be cautious. He believes Mr. Curtis has some sort of past trauma that may keep him from making any serious advances. In any case, who knows when I’ll see him next. Apparently, an old enemy of his in the area. I've been told he isn't likely to show himself until this Mr. Everett departs.”

“Mr. Everett? Are you quite sure? I believe he’ll be coming to stay with my parents for a few day in a fortnight or so. Do you think the two things are connected, the enemy and the trauma?”

“Perhaps,” Catherine said, her heart speeding. If she could help Mr. Curtis, or even just understand him better… “We might be able to find out more.”

“I'll see what I can discover about Mr. Everett. At the very least, I can probably arrange for you to meet him. In any case, I'm still curious about the proprietor of the school. They must be a learned man.”

“It could be a woman of means,” Catherine said, grateful for the distraction. Mary snorted indelicately.

“No woman would chance her position with something so controversial. Unless it was you, Kit, and pardon me for not believing you have that kind of money squirreled away.”

“If I was that wealthy I would hardly need to have such concern for Mr. Curtis,” Catherine agreed with a wry smile. Only that wasn't precisely true. If she were more well off, of course she wouldn't have to marry, but she thought she'd be concerned with Mr. Curtis anyway. No sense telling Mary that. 

“I'll look into your mysterious gentleman, never fear,” she said with a grin, “And in the mean time, I think we ought to go and visit this school.”


	2. A Lesson and A Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Mr. Curtis nowhere to be found, Catherine tries to distract herself by going to visit Lampton Hall with Mary Earlwood, but this is only partly successful. After speaking to Bessie, she resolves to call on Mr. Cutis at Bradley House.

A few days later, with the excuse of going on a picnic, Catherine and Mary walked to Lampton Hall. The sun was bright, the birds were singing, and Mary was in high spirits, which was, at least temporarily, enough to distract Catherine from her concerns about Mr. Curtis. The outside of the estate was just as she remembered from her childhood, only perhaps a bit better maintained. The gardens were blooming with spring flowers, daffodils and tulips and lilies, and there were clean white curtains in all the windows. “It’s quite cheerful, isn’t it?” she said. “Are you sure we won’t be interrupting their lessons?”

“I spoke to Mr. Simmons yesterday. He assured me that anytime near the lunch hour would be appropriate,” Mary said, her eyes twinkling.

“Ah,” Catherine said knowingly. “I was right. A handsome man is involved.”

“Hush you,” Mary said, and she pulled on the bell. A matronly looking servant in a clean but simple outfit answered the door, smiling at them.

“Good day, Miss Earlwood. Mr. Simmons told us to expect you and your friend?” 

“This is Miss Catherine Blakesleigh. We grew up together, and she’s quite interested in this exciting new venture,” Mary replied brightly. “Margaret oversees the cooking and mending here, as well as managing the other servants.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Catherine said. She had been raised to be grateful and courteous to her servants, and it was a custom she didn’t mind keeping. Besides the fact that it never paid to be rude to the person making your food, she could see no reason to demean someone for having to work to put food in their mouths. Catherine’s father in particular had been sure to teach his children how fortunate they were. “It must be a large undertaking. How many students are there here?”

“Only fifteen at present, ma’am. I believe the proprietor intends to take on more next year if he can find another few people to contribute funds,” Margaret answered. “Mr. Simmons said to bring you to the upstairs sitting room. He and the children will be there shortly.” 

The sitting room was large and sunny, with walls painted pale green and a few landscapes depicting forest scenes on the walls. All of the furniture was simple, but sturdy and well-made. “Someone has done a nice job decorating,” Mary said. “It’s perfect for a room intended mostly for children.” 

Margaret nodded. “The proprietor chose all the decorations himself, for the optimum learning environment, he said.” Catherine was suddenly reminded of an encounter she’d had about a month prior. She’d gone into the haberdasher’s to buy a few yards of fabric and ribbon for her mother, and who did she find inside but Mr. Curtis? She’d started to tease him, but he’d looked so harried by the experience that she’d simply wished him luck. The incident had faded from her mind since then, but she never had found out what he’d been ordering. It could have been anything. A new waistcoat, curtains for Bradley House. Or it could have been for this school. Of all the people she knew in and around Darlington, he was the only one who’d ever expressed a desire to see more people educated. Her eyes narrowed in thought, but then, the sound of many young voices reached their ears, and the door opened.

Five or six children, all between the ages of five and nine, Catherine guessed, started to rush into the room, but hesitated when they saw Mary and herself. The adult who had followed them in proved to be a young man with curly hair, spectacles, and a somewhat nervous affect. Perhaps it was only that his posture was so stooped, either a habit due to his height or to many hours spent reading. “Oh, Miss Earlwood, you’re a bit earlier than I expected.”

Mary smiled brightly, and his cheeks flushed. “I hope we aren’t disturbing you, Mr. Simmons. This is the friend I told you about, Miss Catherine Blakesleigh.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Blakesleigh. You aren’t disturbing us at all. These students have just had lunch. I like to give them a bit of free time before we return to the classroom. The older pupils are eating now.” That answered Catherine’s question about the whereabouts of the rest of the children. She supposed it made sense to separate them by age or ability. Mary, meanwhile, was being swarmed with students eager to show off their knowledge. Obviously, she’d visited on more than one occasion. Either that, or she was distantly related to the pied piper.

“Do you want to hear our times tables, Miss Earlwood?” asked a girl with two long plaits braided down her back.

“Oh, yes. Let’s hear them,” Mary replied with all evidence of rapt attention. Catherine smiled before noticing a boy hanging at the back of the group, his brow furrowed. She was sure she’d seen him in town before. When he looked her direction, she offered him a smile, and after a moment, his expression relaxed and he joined in the mathematics demonstration.

“That’s Colin,” Mr. Simmons said, suddenly standing at her shoulder. “His father is the cobbler in Darlington, He’s very bright, but a little shy of strangers.”

“How did you find these children?” Catherine asked. “Are they chosen randomly, or is there some sort of system?”

“For now, the proprietor finds most of them by word of mouth. People tell him about particularly clever children they encountered, and he goes and offers them a place. Colin is the only one from the local area. I suppose if the school ever became more popular, we’ll have to institute some sort of selection process.”

“And I suppose you still won’t say who this mysterious benefactor is?” Mary said, effortlessly inserting herself into the conversation. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Earlwood, but I owe my employer a great deal. He wishes to remain anonymous for the good of the school, and I will not betray his trust,” Mr. Simmons said, though he looked aggrieved to have to say no to her.

“You are too good and loyal, Mr. Simmons,” Mary replied. “Never fear, I will find out what I want to know some other way. Only to satisfy my curiosity, you understand,” she added in a reassuring tone. “Catherine and I approve of this endeavor, don’t we?”

Catherine smiled. “I thought it was a good idea before even coming to see it, and the students seem polite and well-cared for. I only wish the proprietor wouldn’t feel the need to remain anonymous. It would be a grand thing if more people used their wealth to improve the world instead of themselves.”

Mr. Simmons smiled. “My employer will be glad to hear he has two such ardent supporters.”

“I hope he will,” Catherine said. They took their leave a few minutes later, and found Colin sitting out in the front garden, reading a book. Catherine tilted her head to read the title. “Gulliver’s Travels. A fine choice.” He offered them a somewhat hesitant smile and a small wave. 

“So,” Mary said when they were out of earshot, “I can see by your expression that you have an idea.”

Catherine shook her head. “Only a suspicion, but I'd rather not say until I have some evidence. Do you have any thoughts, besides what you may think of the virtues of Mr. Simmons?”

Mary laughed. “Well, he’s rather charming, in a studious way, don't you think? And the children are delightful. Unfortunately, Mother would have a kitten if I said I wanted to marry a teacher. Still, I have every intention of finding out the identity of the proprietor, if only so I can congratulate him. I haven’t seen Mrs. Norris so worked up about anything since that distant cousin of hers ran off with a man from the militia.”

“While we’re on the subject of mysteries, have you found anything out about Mr. Everett?” Catherine asked. Her mind was already back to Mr. Curtis, wondering where he was, if he was well.

“All I’ve heard is that his wife died several years ago, and that he is newly remarried, with an infant son. Nothing that would serve as the basis for lifelong enmity. However, I can tell you that he will be attending a ball at my house in less than a fortnight, and of course, you have an invitation. Perhaps if you speak to him, you can find out more.”

“Thank you, Mary. You are the best friend I could have,” Catherine said, sighing. Mary nudged her with an elbow.

“In that case, if you do marry Mr. Curtis, I expect you to name your firstborn after me.” Catherine smiled.

“I shall take it under advisement.”  
*************************

Ellie Ashcroft came to tea a few days later. Though she enjoyed the younger girl’s company, Catherine found her heart wasn’t in it. She could barely keep her mind on their conversation, which had started with drawing and had somehow meandered over to the virtues of having a pet.

“Is something the matter, Miss Catherine?” Ellie asked, jolting her from the stew of her thoughts.

“I’m terribly sorry, Ellie. I find myself quite distracted lately. I’m concerned about a friend of mine, but I shouldn’t let that interfere in our time together.”

“Is it a gentleman?” Ellie asked with a sly smile. Catherine ducked her head, not at all sure this was an appropriate subject to be speaking to a fifteen year old about. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell my brother.”

Catherine couldn't help but chuckle at that. “I appreciate it, but there’s nothing scandalous going on. It’s only that I haven’t seen him in more than a week, and I have some reason to believe that he may be in some sort of emotional distress. I feel rather powerless to do anything about the situation.”

Ellie scrunched her face in thought. “Perhaps you could chance to ride by his house until he happens to come out.” Catherine let out an undignified giggle.

“Shall I throw apples at his windows until he comes to investigate? I have a feeling that would only result in annoying the servants. He can be rather stubborn.” There was a light knock on the door, and Bessie poked her head inside.

“Mr. Ashcroft is here. Shall I show him in?”

“Yes, please do,” Catherine said, standing up and smoothing down her skirts. He entered the parlor with his hat held to his chest. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ashcroft. I hope you’re well.”

“Quite well, Miss Blakesleigh. I do hope my sister hasn’t been giving you too much trouble.” Catherine thought he was joking, but it still seemed like a somewhat unkind thing to say. Perhaps that was only because she found his overprotective nature mildly infuriating.

“She’s been a delightful companion, as always,” she replied with a bright smile. “I’d be happy to host her again at any time.”

“I’ll talk to you again soon,” Ellie said brightly. They said their farewells, and Catherine started to make her way up to her room, intending to distract herself with a book, but Bessie stopped her.

“Miss Catherine, I beg your pardon, but I was wondering. It’s been such a long time since Mr. Curtis came to call. Is everything all right between you?”

“I wish I knew, Bessie,” Catherine said with a sigh. “Not that there shouldn’t be, but all I know for sure is that he’s withdrawn from society. No one has seen him since just after he gave me the book.”

Bessie wrung her hands. “He’s such a good man, Miss Catherine. If he’s unwell, surely someone should go look in on him. Perhaps you could call on him at Bradley House?”

Catherine bit her lip. Her mother certainly wouldn’t approve, but at least it would make her feel as if she was doing something, even if he refused to see her. It was only a few miles away. “Perhaps I will.”

 

*********************************

The next day, she started out early, having told her mother she intended to spend the day in town. The weather was sunny, which was one worry off her mind, and she took the path through the woods at an easy pace. Her main worry was that someone would see her after she passed Darlington because she wouldn't have a ready excuse. But the only ‘person’ she met on the way was Lord Fat Cat, a large black and white tomcat that Bessie and some of the other servants doted upon. He was a very intelligent, for an animal, and Catherine had gotten into the habit of speaking to him just as she would a gentleman, which he seemed to find pleasing.

“Have you come to escort me to Bradley House?” she asked, stooping down to stroke his head. He purred loudly and rubbed against her shin before moving ahead of her expectantly. “How very thoughtful of you. I’m certainly glad for the company.” 

Bradley House proved to be a stately brick residence with vines crawling up one side. Catherine stopped in the front gate, smoothing down her hair and taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. “What do you think, Lord Fat Cat? Is this a terrible idea?” He headbutted the back of her knee in what she thought was intended to be an encouraging manner. “You're right, of course. I'm here already, so I may as well try to speak to him.”

With confidence she didn't entirely feel, she strode up the walk and rang the bell. The door opened only a few seconds later, revealing an older man in a crisply pressed uniform. He was likely a butler. Catherine squared her shoulders. “Pardon me, sir, but my name is Catherine Blakesleigh, a friend of Mr. Curtis. I haven't seen him in some time, nor has anyone else, so I was hoping I could speak with him.”

“I'm sorry to report that he isn't here, Miss Blakesleigh,” the butler said with a sigh. “He's gone back to his family estate in Yorkshire, all alone. I, and all of the servants here, are concerned about him as well.”

Her heart thudded with alarm. If even his servants were worried about him…”Yorkshire? That's a three day journey.” She chewed her lip. “I don't suppose you have a horse I could borrow? A carriage would be better.”

The butler raised his eyebrows. “You mean to go after him, miss?”

She huffed out a breath. “I know it may be foolish, but it seems plain to me that someone should. Mr. Curtis is… an important friend to me. If anything should happen to him, I would never forgive myself if I hadn't tried to help.”

“I'm grateful he has someone that cares about him, Miss Blakesleigh. My name is Oliver, and if you'll permit me, I will drive you to Pennridge in the carriage myself.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” she said, not sure if she was more relieved or terrified. “I'll need to have a message sent to my mother.”

“Of course, miss. I'll bring you up to Mr. Curtis’s office so you can write her, and Jemima will make you some tea while I get everything prepared.”

Jemima turned out to be the cook, and once everything was explained to her, she not only made tea, but packed a basket with food and gave Catherine an extra dress and underthings. “Thank you so much. You didn't have to go through so much trouble for me.”

“I'm happy to do it. Mr. Curtis has so few friends. Is there anything else you need for the trip?” Of course, there were about a hundred things she would have packed, if she'd planned in advance to be gone for three days. On short notice, she’d have to make do. 

“Do you perhaps have a comb I could borrow? And pencils and paper?” If she was going to be traveling three days, she knew she ought to give herself something to do. She had the book of Donne’s poetry in her coat pocket, at least. A little while later, Jemima returned with a bone comb and a blank book of white paper bound in leather along with a bag containing several charcoal pencils, and even a stick of graphite. “Are you sure I can have these?” Catherine asked. They were much nicer than any supplies she could have afforded.

Jemima smiled. “Of course, miss. I will tell Mr. Curtis that I gave them to you, if he asks, but he received these as gifts some time ago and has never used them. The comb belongs to my daughter.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll be sure to return it.” Oliver came back in to say that all was prepared. Catherine handed Jemima the note for her mother, and then it was time to go. As she got into the carriage, Catherine could only hope this wouldn’t prove to be a terrible mistake.

***********************************

Demetrius sighed as he pulled another weed from the soil and tossed behind him. Usually he could find peace in the garden, but now… The first, or perhaps the second, time he’d spoken to Miss Blakesleigh, she’d told him that she enjoyed gardening. He’d been so surprised that her tastes aligned so well with his own that he hadn’t been sure what to say. Now, he couldn’t help wondering what she would think of what had once been the most private part of his domain. He imagined them working side by side, planting and weeding, watching the change of seasons and years. Then he looked at the white orchids, overspilling their bed again, and it felt like a betrayal. But not as sharply as it once might have. 

Oliver had told him once that Olivia would not have wanted him to be alone, to mourn forever, and he hadn’t wanted to listen. Now, he was forced to concede the point. She had always been a kind and considerate girl. While he was being honest with himself, he could admit that there was less grief now, and more anger. Not only at what William Everett had done to him. They had been close friends all through childhood, and he had known how Demetrius felt about Olivia. He had planned to court her seriously as soon as he returned from Oxford. William had stolen her away, and that had hurt, but worse still was what he had done to her afterward. It was the only time in Demetrius’s life that he had felt the urge to kill someone. His fingers dug into the soil at the memory, and the scent of wet earth brought him back to the present. Olivia was five years gone from the world, and longer still from his life. The last time they had spoken was at her wedding breakfast, and they had been practically strangers. Perhaps it was time to let her memory rest.

He should have sent Catherine a letter instead of disappearing without a word. What must she think of him now? She would certainly receive no comfort from Mr. Worthington, after Demtrius's ill-considered words before leaving. Perhaps she had already given up on him, and was even now receiving the attentions of another man. Mr. Ashcroft would be a prime candidate, a younger and more handsome man than he, certainly. He knew that Catherine was fond of Mr. Ashcroft’s younger sister. Scowling, Demetrius bent himself once again to the weeding. The anniversary was only three days away. After that, he could return to Hertfordshire. If Miss Blakesleigh had indeed turned her affections elsewhere, he would have no one to blame but himself.

**Author's Note:**

> My love for this game cannot be overstated. Everyone should play it.


End file.
